


Bruises & Beaters

by deanisthesun (become_normal)



Series: Black & Bronze [1]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Hufflepuff Dean, Hurt/Comfort, Keeper!Cas, M/M, Ravenclaw Cas, hp!au
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-18
Updated: 2014-04-18
Packaged: 2018-01-19 21:36:39
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,583
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1484947
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/become_normal/pseuds/deanisthesun
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean Winchester does not play Quidditch, thank you very much. Dean Winchester hates Quidditch.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Bruises & Beaters

Dean Winchester does not play Quidditch, thank you very much. Dean Winchester  _hates_  Quidditch.

Why anyone in their right mind would choose to fly around on a piddly broomstick hundreds of feet in the air and have hard objects pelted at them is beyond him. Broomsticks are for sweeping, not for flying.

Dean Winchester  _does_ , however, watch Quidditch. Frequently, and mostly with his hands covering his eyes. It’s not like he’s got any choice in the matter.

Every time Hufflepuff plays, he has to go to show house pride. Those games aren’t so bad, he mostly sits in the very back corner of one of the watchtowers and makes small cheering gestures every time they score.

Every time Gryffindor plays, he goes to support Sammy. Those are a bit worse but at least nobody judges him for freaking out just a little bit every time Sam gets the quaffle. He’s a chaser, and a good one, but he’s only a third year and all he really does is pass the quaffle to other players. Plus, Sammy’s a sweet kid and no one really goes out of their way to fuck with him.

Ravenclaw’s games on the other hand, those are the ones he really hates. While messing with Dean’s kid brother is crossing a line, apparently screwing with his boyfriend is totally fine. Of course the beating that Cas takes is less because of Dean, and more because he’s the reason Ravenclaw has been the undefeated champion for three years running now. He’s the best keeper the school has ever had. This year Cas has let in collectively three shots and it’s already the second last game of the season.

Cas makes absolutely none of it easier by being the most smug bastard whole school. He shrugs off the insults and the threats like it’s nothing. He parades down hallways before games with his teammates, grinning from ear to ear as taunts are thrown back and forth. Dean doesn’t find it so easy. He’s seen Cas in enough hospital beds and pulled him bruised and bleeding out of one too many broom closets to know that they’re not just joking. Not to mention the weird sexual insinuations from some of the braver girls in their class. Dean’s not a prude but if he hears one more joke about  _who rides the broomstick in the bedroom_  he’s gonna put that O in Transfiguration to some good use.

Today’s game is pretty much as bad as it’s going to get.

Ravenclaw vs. Slytherin. Semi-finals. Whoever wins this faces Gryffindor in the final.

It’s also the Slytherin captain’s last year, and by extension his last shot at even getting a chance to be in the championship, let alone win it. Alastair’s threats have always been exceedingly vicious but the week leading up to this game felt particularly tense. Dean was tempted to ask Cas to let them win, just because he’d rather his boyfriend be alive and disappointed tomorrow, than dead and defending a useless title. But then he remembered the proud smile on Cas’s face when he was awarded the Captaincy and the light in his eyes every time he wins a game, and Dean just couldn’t bring himself to tell him to stop doing what he loves. Instead he just did what he always does before Cas goes to warm up and rally the team; pulled him in for a tight hug, pressed a quick kiss to his forehead, and wished him luck.

He always regrets not doing more.

~~~

Cas didn’t see it coming.

Fuck, no one saw it coming.

Except Dean of course.

Dean saw it in Alastair’s eyes as he whispered something to his beaters after Cas saved the tenth shot in a row, too quiet to hear over the roaring of the stadium.

Dean saw it in their sneering smiles as they glanced to the Ravenclaw goal posts, nodding swiftly to their captain’s demands and quickly commanding control of both bludgers.

So when Alastair once again makes a breakaway for the centre hoop, Dean knows it’s not a mistake when he throws it up instead of forwards right at the last second, Cas’s eyes following the large red ball as it ascends another ten feet in the air. Dean knows it’s not a mistake because Alastair’s aim is always true, just like the two jet black bludgers that crash into the unsuspecting chest of the Ravenclaw keeper.

The audible shocked gasp from the audience is mirrored back in Cas’s usually composed features. An expression of pain and confusion clouds his face, and it’s what makes Dean’s heart drop to his stomach.

Cas doubles over in pain, his grip slipping from the broom as his shabby  _Comet 180_  plummets thirty feet into a nose dive. He manages to right the broom for a few moments which garners a loud cheer from the audience but Dean can tell even from so far away that he doesn’t have enough control to keep the broom stationary and it begins tipping back the other way. Cas grapples for a hold on the wooden shaft slowly slipping through his fingers but it’s to no avail as he slides backwards right off the broom, barely grasping the bristles at the end.

Dean and half the spectators aren’t even watching the game anymore but instead have their eyes fixed on the uniformed figure swinging from the vertical broomstick, trying to haul himself back up. Dean has faith that Cas would’ve made it too, had it not been for the Slytherin beater who turned around to deliver a final blow to Cas’s broom, cracking it clean in half with his bat.

It’s Dean’s only saving grace that the broom was on a slow decline anyways when his boyfriend falls the last fifteen feet and crashes motionless to the ground.

~~~

It’s not shock or confusion he hears this time.

It’s outrage.

A chorus of resounding fury.

Dean would contribute if his throat would open back up again and let him say a word or even make a sound but he can’t stop the looming feeling that he’s going to throw up any minute. He can’t tear his eyes away from the figure lying unconscious on the grassy Quidditch pitch. He’s never seen Cas look so small and weak before and the way it’s tugging at his heart makes him sure that he never wants to see him like this again. Someone rests hand on his shoulder and it snaps him out of his trance.

“I said are you alright, Mr. Winchester?” his old Divination teacher peers down at him through large spectacles.

Dean feels wetness dabbing at his cheeks and abruptly realizes that he’s crying. He raises a shaking hand to wipe the tears away and pulls himself together enough to shake his head.

“No, no. I’m not he’s... he’s my. He’s my. I’m sorry I can’t.” Dean knows babbling is useless so he turns away and pushes past the people in his row to get to the stairs. A whistle blows halfway down the second flight of stairs and he hurries his pace. He bounds down the stairs three at a time and reaches the bottom before he knows it.

The sun beats down on him harshly and he raises a hand to shield his eyes from the glare, looking to the pitch once again to search out Cas. In the time it took him to get his shit together and down to the ground, the Ravenclaw seeker called a timeout and is currently in a shouting match with the Slytherin captain. The situation is only humorous because Rachel is a good foot and a half shorter than Alastair, and yet she has him practically cowering behind one of his Chasers. She's usually one of the sweetest, quietest girls he knows until someone messes with her Captain. The Ravenclaw players who aren't standing behind her in support are crowded around Cas, unsurprisingly with a couple Slytherin players as well. Hatred for Alastair seems to transcend house loyalty.

Dean jogs over to Cas's still motionless form, his heart pounding in his chest and a constant mantra of thoughts running through his mind.

He’s gonna be fine. He gonna be just fine. He has to be fine. He has to.

As Dean gets closer to the crowd his steps slow to a jog and his heart races. There's blood. Not a lot of it but enough that he can see it starting to soak through the navy blue material on Cas’s chest. There's a gash down one cheekbone that's oozing dark blood down the side of his pale face. His eyes are shut, lips parted and all colour has drained from his face.

But he's breathing. Very faintly, but Dean can see the distinctive rise and fall of his chest.

Uriel, one of their beaters, leans down to pluck Cas off the ground, but his approach is all wrong and Dean sees the disaster coming from a mile away.

"Stop, stop! You're gonna hurt him like that." He exclaims suddenly, the group acknowledging his presence for the first time since he arrived on the scene.

Uriel backs off as Dean drops to the damp grass to take his place. His hands hover over Cas's still body, not sure where to land or if it's a good idea to even touch him, and that's a new feeling that's he's not liking one little bit.

This image of a motionless, pale Cas that he's not allowed to, or unsure how to touch is almost irreconcilable with reality of his bright, tactile, loving boyfriend. He's exceptionally grateful for the interruption that comes in the form of the school nurse.

"Back, back, back get back all of you. Stop crowding my patient, Mr. Winchester do  _not_  touch him." She says quickly, stooping down beside Dean.

"I wasn't gonna, Madam Harvelle." he mumbles to her.

"Good boy." She says distractedly, looking Cas up and down, examining the damage. "Move around to the other side Winchester."

Dean hops up quickly and jogs around Cas's head to get on his left side, happy to be of some real assistance.

"Professor Singer tells me you're good at charms, boy. I take it you know one to lift large objects?"

He gives her a curt nod and they both stand and draw their wands.

 _"Locomotor_ _."_  Dean says confidently in tandem with Madame Harvelle and Cas lifts about a foot off the ground, his arms splayed out, fingertips trailing along the ground.

They make an interesting scene as they move off the field and into the castle; the witch and the wizard with their wands at the ready and the injured Keeper suspended between them.

They reach the hospital wing slowly but carefully and rest Cas on the first bed available. Lain against the pure white sheets, Cas looks gaunt as a ghost. He was unmoving the entire trip into the castle and remains so now. Dean drags an old metal chair to the side of his bed and softly reaches for Cas's left hand, cradling it between two of his own. He concentrates only on seeping warmth back into Cas's skin as Madam Harvelle works around them. She cuts up the front of Cas's uniform to get at the real damage.

Dean sucks in a breath, unable to tear his eyes away from the mess of blood and ripped flesh that marks up Cas’s toned chest. One bludger found it’s mark right below his right collarbone and left an impression more bruised than bloody, but it’s companion hit the centre of his chest and seems to be the cause of the most bloodshed.

“Dean, you look like death warmed over, there’s no need to lose your head. He’s going to be alright.” Dean’s head snaps up at her.

“He  _is_?” Madam Harvelle sighs deeply and moves towards a cabinet of funny looking potions. “We just need to take care of that arm… and perhaps a broken rib or two. That fall might also leave him unconscious for a bit, but I wouldn’t worry too much.” she backtracks quickly at the horrified expression on Dean’s face. “A couple days of bed rest will do him the world of good anyhow.”

Dean lets out the breath he was holding and drops his forehead to rest on his and Cas’s joined hands.

“I’m gonna freaking kill him when he wakes up.”

“Yeah dude like that’s gonna be helpful...” Dean’s head snaps up once again to see Sam entering through the doorway, carrying a Ravenclaw flag he probably picked up from Jess at the game. Sam takes a couple slow steps closer to the bed, looking down at Cas’s unconscious form with a pinched expression. “Is he going to be okay?” He asks quietly.

Madam Harvelle pauses in treating the cut on Cas’s face. “He’ll be back on that broomstick in no time. You both worry too much.”

Dean scoffs at both her assessments.

“Yeah well... we’ll see about that.” Sam throws him Bitchface #12 which means  _stop being an overprotective boyfriend_ which Dean ignores just on principle. “Why aren’t you at the game?” Dean asks quickly.

“Game’s over. Ravenclaw forefeight.”

“They what?! But they won’t be in the final.” Dean replies in horror.

"They know." Sam says with a note of finality, dragging over his own chair. "But they weren't finishing that game without Cas. Or playing the next one for that matter."

Sam sighs and rests his chin on one hand, elbow propped up on one knee. He sets the royal blue flag at the foot of Cas's bed, looking up at the Keeper with sad eyes. Sam's expression reflects the same clawing sadness that Dean can feel in his own heart when he looks back to Cas. The wounds on his chest now cleaned and dressed and Madam Harvelle was wrapping his visibly mangled arm. Deans eyes flutter closed, holding in tears threatening to fall.

"Why do you guys play this stupid game?"

In front of Dean's closed eyes, Sam and Madam Harvelle share a knowing look, silently agreeing that until Cas woke up and promised to never hop on a broom again, Dean would remain an irrationally, unconsolable mess.

~~~

Cas doesn't wake for three days. His fingers don't twitch, and his steady breath does not waver. His bright blue eyes remain shut and unaware of the numerous visitors that file in and out of the hospital wing. The flowers and letters pile up beside him, stacked beside three days worth of class notes and homework instructions that some Ravenclaws were thoughtful enough to drop off.

Dean barely sleeps for three days. Madam Harvelle kicks him out of the hospital wing at 9pm sharp every night, telling him to go back to his dorm and get some sleep. He never does.

More than anything its the physical absence that Dean notices the most. He eats breakfast in the morning without a warm, sleepy head tucked into the crook of his neck. The seat beside him in potions and transfiguration remains an empty reminder too. Any free time he has in the afternoon is spent with a lifeless, pale imitation of his regularly energetic and charming boyfriend.

On top of Dean's own misery, the entire Ravenclaw Quidditch team as well as a good majority of the students are up in arms over the injury done to their Keeper and Prefect, and by extension to their house. Seven brawls between Ravenclaw and Slytherin have broken out in the past three days, totalling to over seventy house points lost on either side.

Dean lost his own house thirty points yesterday in potions. The beater that broke Cas’s broom in half, Virgil (Dean never cared to learn his name before now), sauntered into class ten minutes late, took one look at the empty seat beside Dean, and smirked. Dean wasn’t exactly going to take that slight layin’ down, and even after six years of knowing how to use a wand, his physical instincts are always what he defers to first. Virgil had a broken nose, two black eyes, and a split lip before one of his classmates could pull Dean off him.

Dean couldn’t muster up the patience to return to class today either, which is how he finds himself once again at Cas’s bedside, his feet propped up on a stool, flipping through Cas’s Muggle Studies textbook that one of his classmates dropped off yesterday. He’s completely mesmerized by a largely inaccurate passage about common Muggle medical practices when a weary voice behind him makes his heart jump to his throat.

“Why are you reading my Muggle Studies textbook?”

~~~

Cas wakes up, his head pounding, throat parched and every single bone in his body aching. His eyes blink open but squint at the bright light streaming in from all around him. He recognizes this room, he’s woken up in it countless times over the years. The noises from the hospital wing echo dimly around him, accompanied by the sound of book pages being turned. He rubs at his eyes with one hand, forcing them to open wider and take in his surroundings.

There’s a familiar form leaning back in a chair right at his bedside, holding a textbook and chewing on the tip of a quill. Cas allows himself a few more moments of silence, revelling in the way the sun glints off Dean’s soft features, illuminating the short strands of blonde hair that form a neat point at the front of his head. His eyes drop to Dean’s hands, cradling the book with the strong gentleness Dean brings to everything he holds. Distracted by less-than-pure thoughts of Dean’s hands, Cas belatedly realizes what book Dean is flipping through.

“Why are you reading my Muggle Studies textbook?” his voices comes out weak.

Dean jumps up so hard the book falls out of his hands and the chair flips on it’s side.

“Jesus Christ.” Dean’s green eyes look down at him in shock. “Jesus Christ  _holy_ _fuck_  you’re awake oh my God.”

Cas rolls his eyes fondly up at him.

“You are the least religious person I know why do you insist on usin-  _mpff_.” He’s abruptly cut off by Dean pressing their lips together and sliding his hands into his hair with a kind of desperation he’s never felt from his boyfriend before.

Cas relaxes back into the soft pillows behind him and lets Dean claim him with tender kisses, their lips slotting together perfectly. Cas lifts one hand to rest on Dean’s shoulder, squeezing lightly in a comforting gesture that Dean naturally overanalyzes and pulls back sharply.

“Shit, am I hurting you? I’m sorry, I totally freaked out there.” Dean’s hands drag out of Cas’s tangled locks of hair and Cas grabs them in his own before Dean can move too far away.

“Shhh, it’s okay. I’m fine.” Cas soothes quietly, shuffling over and pulling Dean down to sit on the hospital bed beside him. Upon closer examination, Dean looks tired and strung out, like he hasn’t slept well in a while, or gone outside in the past week.

“Cas you’ve been unconscious for three friggin’ days you’re the opposite of fine.”

Cas blanks for a minute. That’s the longest Quidditch has ever knocked him out for, but he does remember every terrible detail of the fall. The bandages across his chest are proof enough to confirm that, as well as the numb pain radiating through his body. He glances back up at Dean who is giving him a searching looking, like he’s waiting for a response to his statement.

“Oh.” he says. The look Dean’s giving him intensifies. “That... explains a lot of things.”

Dean lets out an exasperated sigh and drops his head onto Cas’s shoulder. Cas feels a mix of both stress and relief radiating his boyfriend in waves.

“Does it explain why I wish you wouldn’t play this dumb game?” Dean’s retort comes out a little muffled against Cas’s shoulder, and he figures it’s supposed to sound threatening, but Cas doesn’t miss the hint of honest worry under it.

Quidditch has always been a point of contention between him and Dean, but for all the disagreements it’s caused, he’s still been supportive of Cas’s choice. Cas knows he should give him more credit for that. That, combined with the fact that he’s just too exhausted to fight, is why he lets Dean win the argument for once.

“It does.” Cas sighs. Dean lays his head more comfortably into Cas’s shoulder, nuzzling into his neck as Cas lifts one hand to card through Dean’s short hair.

“Does it explain why I’m not gonna let you outta my sight for the next two weeks or so?”

“Mhmm.” Cas mumbles with a soft smile. Dean settles into Cas’s side more fully, and Cas notices that he avoids putting pressure on any healing injuries.

"Good because I'm not gonna." Dean hums happily, closing his eyes and taking Cas’s hand into his. Dean’s strong, calloused fingers brush lightly against his knuckles, soothing him in a way that only Dean knows how to do. Cas’s eyes flutter closed as he revels in the soft peacefulness of this moment. He’s still sore, dying to ask about the game, and furious that he missed three entire days of classes, but those questions and consequences can come later.

For now, he lets the warm light of the hospital wing wash over him, and settles into Dean’s soft, comforting embrace.

 


End file.
